Trauma
by V.Johnes
Summary: Macy could not wear white, not after what had happened with Charity, she tried to break the color with flowers, patterns, and for some time she managed just fine. But she can't wear white.Harry can't wear ties, he can't wear turtlenecks either, the thought of having something around his neck is unbearable. After what happened with Fiona, ties was just another thing he had to let go
1. White

After what happened with Charity Macy can't wear white. She breaks the color with patters, flowers most of the time and as long as she doesn't look at herself in the mirror she manages just fine. She can't see herself dressed in white, it's a shame really she used to like the color, she used to imagine herself getting married in a big white dress, now she can't even stand looking at white bed sheets.

Harry seems to be favoring plain white cotton ones, his drawers are filled with perfectly ironed and folded ones, as she was helping him pack his condo she felt like screaming. "Why do you need so many white sheets?" she asks under her breath.

"For sleeping" he says, she turns and sees him smirking a little, these days it seems almost as if he can read her mind, he made almost a habit of appearing every time his name was said, so much so that Maggie started referring to him as 'Meghan Markle' again but for Macy that didn't seem to work, sometimes she had as much as to think his name or even of him and he would appear next to her not a minute later. Maggie is sure that it's because of everything that happened with Fiona, Charity and the source that makes his already overprotective and jumpy nature work overtime.

She feels his hand on her shoulder and tenses, her sisters are packing the kitchen and living room, they didn't know, no one did, both deciding to figure out what was it that they had before they actually told them what they were. "Mel and Maggie are in the next room." she tells him warningly before she turns to face him, he looks concerned, "And we should be packing your dresser." He is close, almost dizzyingly close, "I know" he says, she sees him throwing a look to the door, half open overlooking the living room, Maggie's soft humming is heard through the door, he leans down and places a quick kiss on her forehead. "Although I can see that I might need some variety." He says taking a look at the drawer Macy was packing. He takes most of the sheets and puts them in the donate pile on the bed.

Macy despises the color white and slowly, Maggie's white coat starts making fewer appearances in the rotation, Mel's white tank tops don't show up in the laundry that often, and even Harry's white undershirts disappear as he starts wearing black ones or skipping them all together. She wonders if she'll be able to look at the color white for what it used to represent, purity, peace, cleanness and not as the color of betrayal, oppression and gas lighting. Charity took so many things from them, the elders assisted in their own twisted ways as well.

Every time she sees Harry putting on a white shirt she's reminded of them, of Charity's hands on his back, of him cruelly punished in a slow but all too quick death for wanting a relationship, of her mother, dead, her body broken from the fall caused by a woman she thought was friend. Of Elder Bari using her demonic side to find out what happened to her mother not knowing how deeper into darkness that would pull her, not caring either, she's reminded of last Christmas, Harry falling into a bottomless pit, the fire was still burning her face every time she passed by the point he had vanished and then him walking out of the gate in Dante's shop, Maggie barely able to hold him uptight, his face ashen, his white shirt stained, dirty, stains of blood, his blood on the sleeves, she's reminded of Charity coming to their home, pretending to help but only pushing Harry deeper into a spiral of depression. Eventually his white shirts join hers in the back of their closet, out of sight out of mind.

She told herself she would move on, that one day she would reclaim the color white, that she would one day walk down the aisle with a white dress, just like she was dreaming when she was younger.

When she tries her first dress, the white is blinding, she feels her throat closing, breath shortening, Mel is the first to realize what's going on, "It's hideous!" she says quickly ushering back in the fitting room, she's glad her sister is there, she quickly undoes the buttons and lets the white fabric fall to the ground, "We'll find another." She says. Macy wants to believe her but she can't in the end it wasn't the dress itself it was the color white.


	2. Ties

When Harry came home, after his family freed him from Fiona's control the sisters pushed him a little too forcefully in the bathroom, "You need a shower Har." Maggie said putting the fresh towels in his hands. She was right, the water falling on his tired body was relaxing, he had turned the heat up, it was nearly scolding hot but he needed it, it was a way to feel alive after all. He had just gotten out when a soft knock on the door startled him, he backed away from the door ready to orb away, "Harry? Can I come in?" his breathing calms down, how can he be so stupid, if it truly was Fiona she wouldn't knock, "Yes" he clutches the towel around his waist a little tighter, Macy opens the door, one hand over her eyes, the other holding clean clothes for him. "You left these here" she says, it makes him smile, "Thank you." He walks closer and takes the clothes from her hands; she nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

It was warm in the bathroom, a little too warm, but Harry felt shivers going down his spine. He wonders when did he left underwear in the sisters' house but he doesn't mind, after all they are clearly his. He realizes that the jacket is mismatched with the trousers he had left and remembers that the dark gray trousers were destroyed when they got attacked by a particularly nasty shocker demon he looks down at his legs, the scar he got that night had faded to nothing but he could still feel the electricity piercing his skin. He puts on the navy blue trousers; he hadn't worn them since Christmas, since returning from Tartarus and turns to the shirt Macy left him, it was a black turtleneck, long forgotten there since Thanksgiving, last time he wore it, it was covered by thorn demon goo, now smelling like cotton, clean and fresh like everything in the Vera-Vaughn household. He mindlessly puts it on, the steam from the shower was thinning and the cold air was feeling like ice on his skin.

Something changes inside him instantly, the moment he feels the shirt around his neck, tight, constricting, like a collar, like _her collar_, he almost expects the hell flame to start burning his skin, his vision blurrier, worse than it did when he was dying. He wants to call out for help, someone anyone but couldn't, he couldn't move, speak, breathe. Black spots in his vision as his knees give way and he falls down, the hard tile colliding with his knees sending shockwaves up his torso.

He doesn't hear the door being thrown open but he feels hands wrapping around him, the scent of honeysuckle and vanilla, familiar, homey, all around him, "Harry." Her voice is ringing in his ears, he tries to wave her off, the worry in her tone is painful, almost like nails on a chalkboard, she's not supposed to worry about him, this was his job, he wasn't important enough to have his charge, a Charmed One none the less worry about him, a mere Whitelighter, but he can't, he can barely raise his hand to his neck, clutch the shirt and pull it away as forcefully as he could. "Stop, you'll rip it." She says removing his hand, the fabric falls back into place, tightly around his neck and he can't draw breath in again, "Let me help you." Her voice steady as her hands move to the bottom of the shirt and carefully pull it up, she maneuvers his head out and then his hands, while he was sitting, helpless on the bathroom floor, cold sweat breaking down his back. He can't see where she throws the shirt to, but he hears it collide with the floor. "I'll go get you another shirt." She says and gets up, his hands want to clasp her hand, to stop her, he wants to tell her that he doesn't want to stay alone, but he can't, he shouldn't, it's not his place after all.

She returns with a clean crisp light blue dress shirt he had forgotten last week, her smile gives him enough strength to stand up.

He puts on a tie for her, they visited Marisol after all. He ties it loosely not too close to his neck, not too tight, if she notices she says nothing, he can't wait to take it off, it's not as bad, he doesn't feel like suffocating that much and he can go maybe an hour before he starts thinking of hell flame burning his skin, cutting through the muscle. They see a blonde woman on their way home, she doesn't even look like Fiona apart from the hair, but his hand reached his neck, he throws the tie away the moment they walk through the door.

He stops wearing neckties after that, his students seem to approve of it, he can hear some chatter and gossip as he passes them by. When he packs his wardrobe, after the sisters forced him to move in with them he throws all his turtleneck shirts in the donate pile, it was a little unceremonious but he felt them burning his hands. Macy is helping him pack, she scoffed at his vast collection of white sheets, taking his mind away.

He notices the way she looks at his white shirts, and he slowly moves them away, the look of pain is not worth it, he likes blue better anyway, she slowly starts moving his ties in the back as well.

He tells to himself he would one day reclaim them, one day he will be able to put on his favorite neck tie and wear it all day, he will be able to wear his favorite tuxedo with the white bowtie and won't feel like throwing up.

Getting ready for their wedding, the sisters kept them apart, Macy had told him that she bought a blue dress, not white and he looks down at his navy tuxedo complete with the bowtie, untied lying on the gray comforter on the guest bedroom he used last night. His hands were trembling as he took the bowtie, he lays it around his neck, his hands slowly working on tying it but he can't, his fingers keep messing up.

Mel walks in "Ready big brother?" he smiles, she took on calling him that lately, he likes it. "Want me to tie it?" she says removing his hands from the crinkly bowtie.

"No," he says "Let it untied"


	3. Better than Fairytales

He is fiddling with his cuff, Mel slaps his hand "Stop it" she hisses, "You're making me nervous." They don't have many guests, Niko, Jada, Parker, he can make out Chloe amongst the pixies, she waves happily, his hand is shaking but he waves back, nervously. He can make out Leon sitting next to Nita and Rita, Sela made it too. He looks away, Marisol is standing behind the table, the lights make her glow more. "Listen to Mel" she tells him strictly and he feels the same knot on his throat he had when he was on trial in front of the Elders. He takes a deep breath, "I'm alright" he says looking from Marisol to Mel.

Macy doesn't let him wait long, he can hear her walking down the stairs, her heels hitting the wood and he waits, his breathing fast, his throat closing but no sign of panic anywhere.

Macy takes a last look of herself she doesn't know what strings her sisters and Harry had to pull to get her parents here, probably too many, and she knows they can't stay for long, but as she turns around, her dad standing at the door, unshed tears shimmering in his eyes she realizes it was all worth it. She straightens the flowery lace on her sleeve Maggie finished placing the veil on her hair styled similarly to how Maggie's glamour styled them in Halloween. "All set" Maggie says smiling putting her hands on her waist, "What do you think dad good enough job?" she asks and Macy is surprised how easily she started calling their father dad, especially when considering that she knew Rey for eighteen years and was still calling him Rey.

Macy looks at her father trying to figure out what he was thinking, she knows that he doesn't approve of Harry, her mother warned her of his distrust, nearly hatred of Whitelighters, and he is even less fond of the fact that Harry comes from an age that women were practically chained to the kitchen, making it very clear to Harry that unless he wanted a very vengeful and dangerous ghost on his trail he better treat his daughter right and never, ever stand between her and her success and carrier. Macy rolled her eyes when Harry told her, although she could see that he took the talk with her dad to heart.

"Better than I imagined." He says smiling even wider. Macy breathes out, "Just with the wrong groom." She says, her face falling a little, Maggie looks away, she doesn't know what gets over her, why she had to remind everyone in the room that he didn't like Harry, "I won't lie I would have preferred you marry a doctor or scientist like you rather than a washed out actor turned witch advisor from the 1920s but," he pauses, Macy looks at him with her breath caught in her throat. "It doesn't matter what I would have preferred." He finishes, Macy breathes out, she doesn't know why but this isn't enough for her, she turns to Maggie "Can you leave us for a moment?" she whispers to her sister who was delighted to leave the room, the tension thick enough to suffocate her.

"Harry isn't a washed out actor." She starts, he tries to stop her but she raises her hand "No wait, he's not, he had a carrier as an actor yes, and he starred in a couple films and plays yes, but he was also a soldier and secret agent for the government during and after World War II, and he has spend every single moment of his life from 1957 and onwards protecting witches, protecting me, and Maggie and Mel, with no regard for his own safety. When Maggie was in Tartarus Harry took the torture for her, when I pushed myself too hard he was there to pick up the pieces, when Mel needed support he was willing to risk himself to give it to her. And he loves me; he loves me and accepts me, all of me, good and bad, the witch and the demon too. I don't know why you are almost hell bound in hating him, but he doesn't deserve it. And in any way he is the man I love and getting married to." She takes a deep breath and looks at her father in the eyes for the first time, she stares him down, daring him to say anything bad about Harry at all. "Alright." He says softly the smile reappearing on his lips, "That's all I needed to hear." He gives her his arm to lead her out of the room, Maggie is holding her bouquet, her bridal bouquet lying carefully on the table next to her, "There you go." Maggie says giving it to her.

She walks down the stairs carefully; the train behind her and the volume of the dress is a disaster in the making. Harry is waiting for her at the solarium, there's some other people she recognizes in the crowd but her brain refuses to make the actual connections she notices that his left cuff is a little crinkled and his bowtie hangs untied around his neck, she tries to fasten her pace but her dad is keeping the same steady slow pace stopping her. When she gets to him, she feels the world stop moving, she can barely hear a word coming from her mother's lips, all she can see is his face as he's smiling at her, all she can hear is his steady breathing. They exchange their vows; he speaks of love and bonds, and all the things she ever wanted to hear. She doesn't know how she remembered her vows; her hand was trembling as she put the ring on his finger. He could feel his hand sweating as he did the same.

Late at night, when the house was empty and silent, Maggie spending the night with Parker, Mel with Niko and probably Jada as well, Harry couldn't take his eyes off of her, "You didn't mind that my bowtie was undone right?" he asks her, he knows her father did mind but he had lived long enough not to care by now, his first father in law hated him as well, it wasn't something he wasn't used to. She turns around, still in her dress "Did you mind I was in a blue dress for our wedding?" she asks, he knows what she's doing and smiles, "No." he says, of course he doesn't, how could he, she looked like an angel in the light blue dress.

"Good, me neither."

That night as she hears him breathing deeply next to her, her hand on his chest, slowly rising and falling with his each breath, her light blue wedding dress shimmering under the moonlight, his tuxedo discarded on the ottoman next to her vanity she realizes that reality is much better than she had ever imagined, even if the bride didn't wear a big white dress and the groom's bowtie was hanging around his neck untied.


End file.
